I have been asked to provide an update on my recovery: I knew that I was having major surgery — but I admit I didn’t really grasp the scope of the recovery — how long it would be, how slow it would be. Just — the whole of it. Which, I have to believe, was probably good. I realized, a couple of weeks before, while watching an episode of Westworld with R, upon seeing a bone saw, that this was probably the tool that would be used to cut off part of my femur to allow fitting of the new…
Of all the things I thought would make me happy in this life, I was completely unprepared for the joy I felt when I was handed an absolutely stunning paper lilac surgical gown to change into — on my way into total hip replacement. I am stunned to once again learn that my brain is wired thus, that such a purple and paper thing would cause my heart to do a small leap (the good kind), disperse all my pre-op anxiety and make me excited to undress. …i assure you, I have undressed for a lot less… And undress I…
Hi there. Yes, we got back from Italy seven weeks ago. No, I haven’t written. Radio silence…yes I have been invisible. Even to myself. I have been too distracted. I had thought — I had imagined that when we would have returned from Italy I would host dinner parties for my family and my friends. It was my plan. There was a lot of food that I could cook — that I would cook — and we would toast those who we would return to — and share beautiful evenings. But that did not happen. Full disclosure: all those months…
The train car is almost empty. It is just past midnight. This is our last time on the airport train…the Malpensa Express. (For now) I am sitting across from him — his eyes are closed. Behind him two men have boarded the train. The controllore stops by to check their tickets. They have none. They fish in their pockets for euros. He begins talking with them about the World Cup — about South America. They are all laughing now. The controllore is entertaining them — seems he is quite charismatic. He seems to love his job. Now we are in…
This year I learned to jump. It was my plan to do a language immersion — for as long as I was able to. (It was also my plan to write about the process earlier than this.) It was my first day of class that I could barely understand the teacher. I was embarrassed, ashamed, thought that I could and should do better. I went up to him afterwards: “Mi dispiace. Sembra che abbia dimenticato quasi tutto.”. (I am sorry — it seems that I have forgotten almost everything) He put his face right up next to mine. Now I…
Will you need help down the stairs, ma’am?, the flight attendant asks. No, I am ok going down, I tell him. After the next helper (so kind, I am overwhelmed) and the taxi we are at our destination. We are greeted with weathered leather chairs, mutton pillows. Panne velvet in gold. Fireplaces and stacked wood. I am familiar with the vibe of the heat-challenged North, even in Summer. I am so tired that I don’t think that I ever can move again. But there is dinner to be had. We decide to eat downstairs. At least there is food. And…
I have given away our extra pantry items, our blender. We are down to the our tiniest bone of soap. Seven months. We had a text in the middle of the night. Someone we loved very much — gone. Reservations made. Ticketed. I am in the school office. Today is my last day, I tell them. But I have brought little cookies, biscottini, to my classmates and my teacher. I explain to them that I have had a death in my family. Oggi e’ il mio ultimo giorno, I say. Today is my last day. Tears are streaming down my…
We are on an island. A big one. A place where streets are broken and the trunks of olive tree trunks are, in some places, more than a meter in diameter. There are cows the color of coffee with milk and milk with coffee. In abandoned lots. They are stunning, queste mucche, attualmente. There are expanses of grasses. Of more abandoned buildings. You can tell the economy has not treated them kindly. The sky is large here. I have counted at least four colors of bouganville. And towering blooming prickly pears, way over our heads. And beautiful but molto pericoloso…
It was just a normal day. Up early, hulling strawberries for smoothies. We strip the bed to run the washing machine — which takes three hours — so the sheets can hang all day — so they can be fresh and dry when we sleep again. We open all the windows, wide. We have no screens. The morning air is lovely. We make tea. We snack on those apricots I got at the place down the street — the place owned by a large family from the South…where all the produce is amazing. At 8.15, the bells from the church…
Six months, now. We have our favorite curry cashews. We now have fresh basil growing on our windowsill. And teeny red roses. I am now saving my new soap for our return. The weather is warmer, yet I am still in wool some days. Our world of black and grey is giving way to color. The black and cashmere and down has been replaced by black and grey t-shirts…yellow bags, red skirts, rose-gold shoes, orange scarves and white sneakers. And also for the women. Except for when it rains. When it rains everyone goes back to black and grey. Gelato…
We had just returned from a week away the night before and had all manner of clean laundry hanging to dry all over the apartment. I didn’t really want to leave early the next morning on another adventure because — truly, I was weary. Plus, it was supposed to be one hundred percent chance of rain — all weekend. I expressed this to R and we agreed to stay home that weekend. Then we discovered we couldn’t cancel the reservations. Sigh. So, I perfunctorily packed. We got up early, caught our taxi to the car rental across town. I argued…
We were in this country for so very long before we made it down to Roma. So many other things were pressing…so many other places were closer. And yet I felt the draw of Rome. Allora — siamo andati a Roma. We went to Rome. Another surprise…on our way from the train station to our hotel I was very moved by the very fact of being a Roma. I cannot even explain it. Non posso proprio. I just can’t. But so many feelings. Of all types. Of course we ate good food — we went twice to…
Alas, duty, invitation and ‘mini-break’ have brought us to the land of pommes frites. Here it is green and spring — and smells like Wisconsin. Really. We are in Fontainebleau. On my own I walked into town, got a faceful of blooming wisteria (twice!) and, of course, had the most amazing pommes frites — because, why else come to France? In actuality I have been surprised that I have forgotten nearly all of my French – (presque tout!), by the presence of so many italian dishes (so much mozzarella di bufala, so much pesto) — and by the realization that…
Yes, these days we have been talking about ‘draining the swamp’ — in a way. Here we are also talking about this — but a bit differently. So…on the humble bidet — (not literally)… ”Il bidè.” It was our first day with the new teacher and barely ten minutes into class when she opened the subject of bidets. Hai uno nella casa tua? Do you have one in your house? Hai questi nel tuo paese? Do you have them in your country? L’usavi? Do you use one? And my favorite….How do you clean yourself? Come ti puliti? I thought…
It was for R’s upcoming birthday that we made the plan to go to Cinque terre…the ‘five lands’…referring to a group of fishing villages that for many years only had German and Swiss tourists. Now, thanks to unnamed American travel writers, overrun with Americans. I have to say that I didn’t know what to expect. Sure, it is true that I have had too many details in my head but after managing to accidentally make reservations to go to place seven hours’ away from where I intended to…(hey, I was processing so much!), I was able to reboot and find…